


Flow and Turn

by laulan



Category: Hilda (Cartoon)
Genre: Adventure, Depression, Folklore, Friendship, Gen, Making Up, Near Death Experiences, Norwegian Mythology & Folklore, Perfectionism, Swedish Mythology & Folklore, fear of failure
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-18
Updated: 2019-12-18
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:00:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21845587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laulan/pseuds/laulan
Summary: "I'm sure Frida's right," Hilda said. She craned her neck and looked over Frida's shoulder, her blue hair brushing against Frida's sweatshirt. She was so close to Frida. As if nothing had ever happened between us, Frida thought, as Hilda added, "Besides, meeting a new spirit sounds much more interesting than just getting a note from Tontu."David and Hilda have nominally forgiven Frida for how she acted while they were fighting, but Frida knows she has a lot to make up for. And it starts with getting Hilda a Sparrow Scouts badge.
Relationships: David & Frida, David & Frida & Hilda (Hilda), Frida & Hilda (Hilda), Johanna & Frida
Comments: 11
Kudos: 75
Collections: Yuletide 2019





	Flow and Turn

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BlackEyedGirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlackEyedGirl/gifts).



> Frida is going through some stuff here :( there's a lot of rough depressive thought patterns going on, so do take care if that might be upsetting to you. <3 But there is a happy ending, so no fear!

“To begin,” Frida read out from the book, “select a spirit you would like to befriend. Oh, there are a _lot_ of them... sjörå, havsrå, bergsrå, huldrå, Tallemaja, bissen, vard, fylgjur, näkker, Strömkarl, Nisse...”

“The Sparrow Scouts guide only talked about the Nisse,” David said doubtfully. “Shouldn’t Hilda just show Raven Leader a note from Tontu saying they’re friends?”

Frida’s stomach tightened as if a rope was being snarled slowly around it. "The guide does specify that you should befriend a _new_ spirit... since Hilda already knows Tontu, I assumed it wouldn't count. But--"

"I'm sure Frida's right," Hilda said. She craned her neck and looked over Frida's shoulder, her blue hair brushing against Frida's sweatshirt. She was so _close_ to Frida. _As if nothing had ever happened between us,_ Frida thought, as Hilda added, "Besides, meeting a new spirit sounds much more interesting than just getting a note from Tontu."

David groaned. "Here we go again," he muttered. But he was looking at Hilda, with--with this fondness tucked in the curve of his smile. Their friendship had obviously deepened in the last month while Frida hadn’t been around. Her hands tightened involuntarily around the book, and her heart gave a painful stab of longing. She’d missed so much.

 _You deserve this,_ she reminded herself, sternly, when she caught the feeling. _You made a mess of things, Frida, and now you have to fix it._

She swallowed down over the ache, pushing it back as best she could. No sense in wasting time when she could be working on fixing it, after all. She cleared her throat to draw their attention back to the book. “Hilda, which one would you like me to start with?”

“What was the last one, before Nisse?”

“Strömkarl.” Frida checked the table of contents, then flipped to the page with the description. There was a picture of a fancily-dressed figure drenched in marsh-weed and draped over a harp; she moved the book so Hilda and David could see. “Strömkarl is a water spirit who inhabits lakes and freshwater streams,” she read. “He is exceptionally skilled at playing musical instruments of any type, and is most often heard playing the harp and fiddle. He prefers to spend all his days practicing and honing his craft. If he is approached properly, he can be persuaded to teach a supplicant his musical skill.”

Hilda brightened, popping her head up. “Oh, that sounds lovely!” she said. “I’m dreadful at the fipple flute, but supposedly, if you’re really good at it, the notes can be used to direct a woff in flight! Wouldn’t that be amazing?” She stared up at the sky and her eyes went dreamy. “Then you could go anywhere you wanted!”

“For directions on how to befriend Strömkarl, see next page,” Frida continued eagerly. “Step one: slaughter—oh, my goodness! No, that won’t work—slaughter a white he-goat and throw it, head turned away, into a north-flowing waterfall on a Thursday, alone.”

“Oddly specific,” Alfur noted, peering out from the curtain of Hilda’s hair.

“And we haven’t got any goat heads, eugh!” David added, with an expressive shudder.

Frida skimmed down the page, hoping for an alternative. “Ah, there’s a few other options! Let’s see. It says this method may be less effective. Method two, step one: steal smoked mutton from a neighbor’s storage four Thursdays in a row. Oh, hmm…”

“I don’t think resorting to theft is very in keeping with the Sparrow Scout oath,” Hilda put in, dubious.

“Yes, and the timing leaves something to be desired,” Frida agreed. She frowned at the book. “Hmm. There is one more option. Method three, step one: on a Thursday evening, carefully prepare a feast of sour cream porridge and cured meat, preferably lamb, for Strömkarl. Make sure it is as fatty as possible and use lots of cinnamon on top. For best success, prepare scrambled eggs and potato salad as side dishes as well. This will offset the fact that your meat was not stolen. Step two: bring the food to a waterfall or river on a silver tray. Step three: carefully set the tray by the riverside, call Strömkarl’s name three times, and hop backward five hops. Step four: wait for Strömkarl to appear and examine your meal. If he deems it acceptable, he will teach you to play any instrument you like.”

Hilda leaned closer. “That sounds _much_ more doable!” Her voice was bright and resolved, a _here-we-go-on-adventure!_ voice.

“And today’s Thursday!” Frida trilled. The eagerness was galloping in her stomach like a herd of horses; finally, something she could actually _do!_

She hoped it would be enough.

“I hate sour cream porridge, even at the holidays, when you’re supposed to want it.” David sighed. “Oh well. I suppose we’ll have to learn how to make it, now.”

“Back to the library!” Hilda cried gleefully. She leapt up from the table; Alfur, who was used to it, clung to the swing of her hair like a rope. “Surely there’s a cookbook there!”

“Or we could just go to my house,” David said “My dad loves cooking—he has a _ton_ of cookbooks.”

Hilda wilted slightly. “Oh. Well, all right then.”

 _You just want another chance to try and figure out what’s going on with the librarian,_ Frida of old might’ve said. Frida of now didn’t say anything, just tucked her chin down and busied herself putting the book in her backpack. She was sure they’d need it later.

“You’d better hurry,” Alfur advised. “Today’s Thursday, and it’s already afternoon.”

“Right!” Hilda straightened again, excitement firming in her expression. “Come on! Let’s go!”

“We’d better stop at the supermarket,” Frida hurried to interject. “Unless you’ve got cured lamb in your fridge, David.”

“To be honest, I’m not entirely sure _what’s_ in the back of the fridge, or how long it’s been there.”

“Supermarket it is.”

*

The thing was, David and Hilda acted almost entirely normal. Neither of them gave her looks askance, or went off on adventures without her, or even tried to leave her out of conversations. Since the Sparrow Scouts camping trip and the Black Hound, things had been so close to the way they’d been before between the three of them that it was hardly noticeable.

It was just—David was ever-so-slightly quieter. That is, he spoke with Hilda the same amount as he always had, with the same enthusiasm, but with Frida, he seemed pressed-back, almost. Just a little. Just enough so that every now and then she caught a tightness in his mouth before he smiled at her. And it made her feel just _awful._ Like a bit of ice was dropping down her throat to throb, freezingly painful, where it caught in her stomach. She and David had been friends since they were tiny, and now things were so different because of Frida’s mistake. It made Frida think of the time she’d broken her dad’s favorite vase, the way it had seemed all right at first except for a nearly invisible crack, but had burst into pieces when he next poured water in it. What if that was going to happen to her and David?

Hilda was almost worse, because as far as Frida could tell, she didn’t feel any differently about Frida than she had before. Her grins were just as zippy with enthusiasm, her words just as warm. She seemed as happy as she ever had just to _be_ with Frida, no matter what they were doing. _That_ made Frida’s cheeks flame with a miserable, stinging embarrassment that ossified in her chest when she tried to push it back. Everything was different now, but Hilda wouldn’t act like it. It was as if she’d already completely forgiven Frida for being thoughtless and cruel. But Frida knew that couldn’t be right. Knew she didn’t merit it yet, even if Hilda thought she did. Good friends were loyal to the bone, and trusted you, and were always kind. Frida hadn’t been any of those things for the last month. She had a lot to make up for, a lot of being a dreadful person that she had to cover over by being a good person and a perfect friend.

 _That means staying on task!_ she scolded herself when she caught the direction of her thoughts. _You can never focus anymore! No wonder you can’t get anything done. No wonder you’re not doing well on your summer homework. You’re abhorrent. Useless. A failure._ And each word burned at the back of her mouth as they went through her mind—

No, there she went again, being flighty and stupid and getting distracted from her task! She scowled down at the porridge she was stirring, and forced all the feelings and thoughts up to the back of her brain in an ossified little clump for later. (Or never.) Right now she had to concentrate, or the porridge would burn.

“Hilda… this looks like strawberry jam. _What_ have you done to these eggs?”

Frida looked up at David’s words, and winced when she saw the pile of red goop on Hilda’s plate. Oh, dear. Well, at least the porridge would be better than that.

“Put ketchup in them?” Hilda ventured. “But, er, they don’t look very good, do they. Do you think Strömkarl likes ketchup?”

“Not _that_ much ketchup,” Alfur said.

“I’m just no good at cooking!” Hilda exclaimed, flopping into a chair at the table. She heaved a sigh and eyed David’s bowl, her shoulders slumping. “David, how come your potato salad looks so good? And Frida’s porridge is coming right along!”

 _You’re too impatient,_ Frida thought warmly, but bit her lip against the words.

“You’re too impatient,” David said, making Frida startle. Affection mellowed his voice, and he snorted at Hilda. “You could do it, too, if your mind wasn’t running in a thousand other directions.”

Hilda grumbled, “I can’t help it if there are more interesting things to think about than eggs warming up,” and crossed her arms sullenly.

“I’ll do another batch!” Frida volunteered. The words jumbled out, falling over each other in her haste, and she felt a flash of shame at how stupid it must have sounded.

“Don’t worry,” David said. Politely, to be sure. “The potato salad’s ready; I’ll do some eggs. You’ve got the porridge going.”

 _He thinks you can’t,_ her brain hissed. _He thinks you can’t do it. And he’s right. You know he’s right, because you’re an idiot, aren’t you? And nothing you ever do will make up for it._

_You’re a dreadful, stupid person—_

“Frida?” Hilda’s voice came. “Are you all right?”

“Fine!” Frida declared, brightly, straightening her spine and grinning at the two of them. She hurriedly stirred the porridge, inhaling sharply when some slopped over the edge. “Whoops! Just—concentrating on porridge, yes! I’m absolutely fine.”

“Are you sure?” David asked. He was looking at her more carefully now, his eyes narrowed—wary, somehow. Pain spread in Frida’s chest like a bruise.

“Why wouldn’t I be sure?” Frida said, making herself laugh. “Of course I’m sure. You better get started on those eggs if we want the warming dishes to keep everything at the same temperature.”

David’s mouth twitched downwards, and her heart gave a terrified leap. She wasn’t sure which would be worse—him saying something more, or him letting it go.

Her stomach gave a pang when he said, “All right,” and turned back to the fridge. She wasn’t even sure if it was disappointment or relief.

_Just focus, Frida. Fix it. Fix it, and everything will be all right._

She stared at the porridge, stirring and stirring, every bit of her body laced up tight.

*

They made a stop by Hilda’s house, where Hilda dashed in and got Tontu to find her an old silver tray that had been lost in Nowhere Space, and, apparently, had time to listen to the radio, where the new weather forecaster had suggested sudden showers. She’d brought some old raincoats from Nowhere Space for Frida and David, since she knew they wouldn’t have theirs; they smelled like must and lint, but Frida appreciated the gesture, feeling Hilda’s kindness warm her stomach in a jittery, anxious burst. The coats were too small (Frida’s, with her wrists showing at the sleeve edges) or too big (David’s, which went down to his knees), but at least they wouldn’t be soaked through by the time they got home for dinner.

(Dinners at Frida’s house recently had been... quiet, and awful. Her parents kept trying to ask her questions about why she’d been acting so strange, and why she hadn’t finished her extra work, and why she hadn’t cleaned her room, and did she want to see a doctor; Frida kept not answering them. She hadn’t been very hungry lately anyway, her stomach tied in knots from thinking about Hilda and David and _Kelly_ and the Hound and everything, really. A few days this week, she’d skipped. She wouldn’t have minded having to skip again today to go have a shower instead, but she knew David’s parents and Hilda’s mum _would_ mind, so she was glad about the jackets.)

The river wound through Trolberg Park. Before they’d left David’s house, they’d looked it up in one of his mum’s nature guides, and learned that there wasn’t really a big waterfall in the part that was easiest to get through. There was, however, a small one, just a rocky outcropping of a knee-height, where the river belled out into a pond among cat-tails and marsh-weed before scudding away again on the other side. Alfur, their expert of contracts, had said he thought that probably counted well enough for summoning Strömkarl, though he also said, “Statement does not constitute responsibility in the case of failure to summon Strömkarl,” in an officious chirp.

The bus went most of the way, but it was a longish ride, and by the time they got off in the park, the rain had started, pattering on their shoulders. It wavered between warm and cool. The droplets made everything smell fresh and summery. They had to walk a bit to get to the pond, and their shoes were all a little muddy when they reached it. Frida hoped they would be able to summon Strömkarl quickly—she hated wet feet.

 _But I’ll do anything for my friends,_ she reminded herself, steps pounding in the grass and dirt.

They’d agreed before that Hilda would try to summon Strömkarl, and David and Frida would hang back. They hadn’t really befriended Tontu yet, or their own Nisse, and David had argued he was sure that would count for them, and that Hilda could have all the glory of needing to work with something more unusual. Frida didn’t care about her own badge, anyway—she’d already messed up her string a month ago, what did it matter?—but she did want Hilda to succeed, desperately, and she’d thought Hilda had the best chance being the only summoner.

“Well!” Hilda said, setting the insulated bag with the warming dishes in it, and straightening the tray in her hands. “This looks like the right place! Are you ready?”

“Yes! Here,” Frida said, jumping to unzip the bag. The rain immediately plopped onto the warming dishes, so she hurriedly juggled them out and onto the tray, although Hilda was saying, “Oh, Frida—I can do—oh. Never mind. Thanks.”

“Of course!” Frida said. Nerves were dancing along her skin, and that wasn’t helped by the fact that David was giving her a shrewd look again. Ugh, he was always more observant than you wanted him to be at the worst times!

But she couldn’t have explained her feelings to him. She never would. He and Hilda shouldn’t have to bear the burden of Frida’s errors. This was all on her.

_Imperfect, problematic, terrible person that you are—_

She yanked off her backpack and stepped back. The book from the library came out, and she flipped to the section she had bookmarked, protecting the book from the rain with her arm. “Tell me when you’re ready and I’ll read the instructions,” she said to Hilda.

Hilda nodded, and hefted the tray up, her eyes turning towards the river. “Ready!”

“All right,” Frida said. “Carefully set the tray by the riverside, call Strömkarl’s name three times, and hop backward five hops.”

Hilda stepped forward and set the tray as close to the water as she could. “Strömkarl, Strömkarl, Strömkarl!” she called out, her voice ringing across the water. The noise of the rain got louder, and the clouds almost seemed to heave in closer, darker, in the sky. Frida shivered without quite knowing why. She watched as Hilda hopped back five times. Her eyes shot back to the water as a staticky, humid _hum_ filled the air—

Followed by drifting, beautiful harp music.

Frida’s eyes opened wide as the notes slid into her ears. It was—beautiful, the music, so clear and lovely. Dripping tinglingly down her spine. The rain hardened, splattering on her uncovered hair, but it didn’t bother her, because the music was there, around her, lightening everything. Easing it. Burying the familiar feelings of shame and guilt and terror beneath gliding notes, and loosening all the knots in her heart and stomach with breathless, silvery rings. The shadowing sky only made the music brighter and more glorious.

“ _Oh,_ ” she whispered, yearning. Her hands clenched into fists, and her pulse skipped in her wrists. It had been a long time since she’d felt like this— _so_ long.

Beside her, dimly, she noticed David shaking his head like a dog and Hilda frowning. But their expressions both smoothed out the longer the music went on, and somehow that seemed right. Frida smiled, looking back towards the water.

There was a figure, there—it must be Strömkarl. He wore an old-fashioned green coat that was covered in marsh-weed and a crown of cat-tails, and had the bluest eyes Frida had ever seen. His fingers were barely touching the strings of the harp he carried, alighting on them as gently as butterflies on flowers. Frida’s yearning built and became a string, pulling her towards the music.

“Yes, come a little closer,” Strömkarl murmured. His eyes gleamed, chips of crystal in the gloom. Frida found herself swaying forward. If she could just get nearer to the music...

“Away, näkker!” shouted Alfur suddenly from Hilda’s pocket. His high voice was as loud as he could possibly make it, and it cut across the harp strings like the squeal of rubber tires on the road. Frida blinked as a cold sensation washed down her back. Why was she standing in the water? Her shoes and pants would be ruined! And why had Hilda and David come with her, Hilda still holding the tray?”

“No!” growled a rasping voice. Frida startled as she remembered Strömkarl—or, what had Alfur called him? “Don’t call my—”

“Näkker!” Alfur yelled, defiant. “You’re not Strömkarl, just a nasty, grasping näkker trying to ensnare these humans!”

“Näkker!” Hilda chimed in, and leaned forward, pinning the—the spirit in her black gaze, fierce as a bear trap. “Näkker, näkker, näkker! C’mon, you guys!”

With each repetition of the word, the spirit flinched and lurched back, its fingers falling discordantly across the harp strings. Frida felt air fill her lungs suddenly, and she gasped and pushed a step closer as her mind came back to her.

“Näkker!” she called. “Näkker, näkker!” David had joined, too, and the four of them chanted in unison, and the spirit jerked as if struck each time, its face creasing in anger and pain. The water around them bubbled and hissed, but Hilda started chanting faster, so Frida and David followed.

“Näkker! Näkker!”

The humid fog shivered, and something in the distance cried in a way that made the hair on the back of Frida’s neck stand straight up. But as their voices rose to a fierce crescendo, the näkker was shrinking and cowering back, its eyes gone dull and its hands raised to protect its ears.

“No!” it wailed, a last time; Hilda yelled one very loud “NÄKKER!” in its direction, and with a sudden reel, it sank into the watery bubbles, hands flailing.

The sense of danger that had lingered faded, quick as mist.

Frida’s breath stabbed through the humid air. Over the rain, she could hear David and Hilda panting, too. The space where the näkker had stood was empty, now containing only dim marsh-weed and raindrop ripples where a moment ago, an unearthly green glow had cast everything in a terrifying light.

“Well!” Hilda said finally. When Frida turned to look at her, her eyes were wide—but she could see, in the way Hilda’s expression was brightening, that that was only from surprise, not fear.

( _Frida_ was afraid. _Frida’s_ heart felt like it was stabbing her skin, it was beating so fiercely and quickly; her bones had turned to jelly under her muscles; she felt floppy and tight and huge with her fear. Frida was afraid, but Hilda wasn’t.)

“That really was extremely rude of him,” Hilda continued, her eyes narrowing on the marsh-weed. “He could have just said he wasn’t Strömkarl. Thank you for saving us, Alfur—how did you know his true name?”

“It was in the book,” Alfur said. He was a tiny, mournfully wet presence on Hilda’s shoulder, wringing his shift out onto her sweater. “On the next page. ‘Common water spirits, called näkker, often try to masquerade as Strömkarl to lure humans into their service.’ You really should read about similar creatures any time you go to meet a spirit, you know. They _thrive_ on confusing contractual obligations!”

Frida was gripping Hilda’s arm tight, somehow, but she couldn’t seem to let go. Behind the adrenaline of the whole encounter, she could feel something else starting to come back to prominence: the sticky blackness that had been living in her middle these past few weeks. It clumped and chunked up, making her stomach tight. _I failed,_ she thought.

Hilda blew out a sigh, her wet hair flopping around her mouth. “I thought since there weren’t any footnotes, we’d be safe!” she groaned.

“That was flipping terrifying,” David managed finally, his words stuttering out. “Can we go home now?”

 _You failed,_ Frida’s brain echoed back at her. _You failed._

“Yes,” Hilda said, “let’s. I bet Mum’ll make us a nice tea if you come over... ”

“Ooh, yes,” David sighed, a blissful expression coming over his face. “That sounds wonderful. And radiators sound wonderful, too. And being dry... ” He lifted one squelchy boot out of the marsh.

“Being dry,” Alfur agreed, wistful.

Hilda stood up, dripping marsh-weed. “Let’s go, then!”

“But the badge,” Frida blurted out.

Her voice was tight and cracked. She still couldn’t let go of Hilda’s arm, and the blackness was thickening.

“The badge?” David demanded. He threw his arms up dramatically. “Frida, we’ll worry about that later! Never thought I’d miss you _not_ caring about badges.”

He rolled his eyes in his friendly way at Frida to soften it. But his words trailed down her throat as cold fingers, and she felt her heart shriveling up like an old apple under the touch of them.

“I—I—I said I would get Hilda her badge,” she tried, swallowing over the point of tightness.

Hilda smiled through the rain on her face. “Thanks, Frida,” she said. “But it’s all right. Today just wasn’t the day. I’ll get one somehow, one of these days.”

The blackness swelled, curdled up into her chest, pushing and pulling at her lungs. _You failed. You **failed.**_

“It’ll be fine,” Hilda added. She was staring at Frida, a worried furrow starting to pick itself in between her eyes. “Don’t worry about it, all right?”

Frida looked at her, and smiled tremulously back, and lied, “All right.”

*

 _You failed,_ her brain whispered to her as they trudged back through the rain. _You failed, you failed, you failed. Hilda doesn’t have a badge, and it’s your fault. You should have planned better. You should have thought of this!_

The words stuck like rocks in her throat, rumbling and grinding and choking. They stopped everything up until she felt she could barely breathe, her breath whistling shallowly through the tiny space that was left. She chewed her lip fiercely, and blinked, trying not to cry—not until she was alone. Not where David and Hilda could see. Not where they’d have to comfort her, like she didn’t yet deserve. She knew if she started crying, she wouldn’t be able to stop, and then—then it would all come smashing to pieces.

_Why didn’t you think of this, you idiot? You’re so stupid._

She had to hold it in. She had to. She spent every moment of the walk back, every iota of energy, concentrating on that. David and Hilda and Alfur all chattered along beside her, and she forced herself to attend to their words so she could make the right sounds and seem like the old Frida, not this new one, overtaken by the blackness. _You failed, you failed, you earned these feelings,_ sang her brain under that all, and Frida carried the blackness and the tightness and ached and tried to pretend.

But pretending didn’t change the facts. She’d failed. Hilda hadn’t gotten a badge; she hadn’t made it up to Hilda. And David must be mad at her, now, again, with that crack at the end about never thinking he’d miss the old her.

_You failed. You’re so stupid. You deserve to feel this way, and you will feel this way forever, because you are a horrible blight of a person who ruins everything, and that’s who you’ve been all along._

The words went round and round. Frida kept focused on packing it back behind that holding, not letting it out, yet.

Maybe not letting it out, ever. Not until she’d fixed things, anyway.

*

David said he’d meet them at Hilda’s, and made a detour to take the warming dishes and insulated bag back to his house first, lest his dad miss them. Terror stabbed at Frida at the thought of being alone with either of them, but Hilda and Alfur spent the rest of the walk chattering about the näkker, so she got away with being quiet. She only had to make it a bit longer, she told herself, and then she could go home and go to her room, and hide in her closet. The holding was getting harder, but she managed. She made herself manage. Hilda deserved no less.

When they got to Hilda’s house, Johanna exclaimed over their condition of their pants and shoes. “What in the world happened?” she demanded, practically tripping over her feet in her haste to set the kettle on the stove for tea.

Hilda and Alfur told the story, while Twig, who had been forced to stay home with a hoof injury and a sad cone around his neck, groomed Hilda ferociously, staring at her as if to impart that she should never get into such danger without him again. Johanna said as much out loud, fussing over Hilda and brushing a worried hand over Frida’s shoulder, too. That almost broke Frida’s resolve, and she had to swallow very hard not to let herself break. Another sharp little rock of feelings joined the others at the back of her brain.

“You two will have to take a bath immediately,” Johanna ordered, feeling Hilda’s skin with the back of her hand. “Cold as ice! Hilda, you first, you’ve got deeper into the water, I can see from your pants. Frida, I’ll get one of Hilda’s robes for you in the meantime.”

“Oh, no, I couldn’t possibly—”

“Nonsense,” Johanna said. “I’ll call your parents and let them know you got caught in the rain— _no,_ Hilda, I will not tell them about the näkker _for now,_ but only if you promise to tell me if you intend on such a dangerous adventure again, young lady!” She swept Hilda into her arms for a hug. “Here, let’s get you settled. You too, Alfur, you look pitifully drippy.”

Frida took a deep breath in the stillness of the room as Johanna lead Hilda out. Twig followed them, his hooves tapping on the floor, and Frida used the time to get herself back under control, breathing shallowly until everything felt packed-in and distant. She thought, by the time Johanna came back in the bathrobe, that she could manage to keep it together until she went home.

“Thank you for having me over,” Frida murmured. She kneaded the bathrobe in her hands, unable to look Johanna in the eyes.

“Of course!” Johanna said. “Any time, really. It’s so nice to see you around again, Frida. We missed you when you didn’t come by for a few weeks.”

The holding cracked, and Frida burst into tears.

The badness of the feeling never went away, and it was never _going_ to go away, and it was the worst thing in the world. She was crying, that kind of crying that came deep from your stomach, she knew she wasn’t being quiet or mature or pulled-together about it, because her head was in the bathrobe and her shoulders were shaking like mad. Johanna was saying, “Oh, Frida,” over her, and then a warm arm curled over her shoulders, and that—that was _worse_. Frida sobbed and sobbed, her throat hurting, her heart feeling like it had a great ballast tied to it, weighing it down, down, down to her feet.

“Oh, Frida, come here," Johanna said, and pulled her in for a hug. She smelled of graphite and tea, and she held Frida close and tight. Frida couldn't help but press her face into Johanna's shoulder for a moment, even though she knew she would get her sweater wet and dirty. Johanna only pulled her closer, and said, “Shh, shh, it’s all right, it’s all right.”

Frida took the injustice of that like a cold shard of ice in her chest. “It’s _not_ all right,” she blubbered out, squeezing her eyes shut. “And it won’t be ever again. I’ve ruined _everything_."

"I promise you haven't ruined everything," Johanna said. Gentle fingers stroked down over Frida's hair. "It might feel bloody awful right now, but I promise you, Frida, you haven't. What do you think you’ve ruined?"

“I’m a horrible friend, and I’ll never make up for the way I acted to David and Hilda!”

"The way you acted to David and Hilda?" Johanna asked, tender in a way that Frida didn’t deserve.

“Yes! Saying terrible things to them, that weren’t even true, and then—not, not talking to them, and going off with other people who were awful, and, and, and— _everything!”_

The whole story came pouring out of her mouth like sludge. How it had begun with the room. How she wasn’t actually clean and tidy and perfect, but messy and awful and terrible. How she’d been cruel to David and Frida, and how Kelly had seemed so cool, and how it had all gone so, _so_ wrong. How it would be wrong forever, and _she_ would be wrong forever, too, now, unable to fix what she’d done.

“They’ll never forgive me, and I wasn’t even trying to have an adventure!” she wept. “I was just trying to do what I was good at! I always knew I’d never be someone interesting and courageous and wonderful like _Hilda_ , but—” she gulped in a sharp see-saw of a breath— “but I thought I was at least good at being _Frida!_ Then I messed that up too.”

“Oh, Frida. Oh, dear, come now, let’s breathe and see if we can untangle this a little. Come on now, deep breath.”

Frida did her best to obey, shuddering and shaking through a gulp of air. What did it matter, anyway? She curled tighter into Johanna, misery jangling through every atom that made her up.

“Good. Now. First of all,” Johanna said, rubbing her back a bit, “as far as Hilda and David forgiving you, well, I can’t speak for David, but I _know_ Hilda has forgiven you and wouldn’t want you to think otherwise. She’s been so, so happy you’re hanging out again. What makes you think she hasn’t forgiven you?”

“Nothing,” Frida admitted, trembling. “She acts the same as always. She’s an amazing friend. But then I feel like she must be hiding her feelings, because she _shouldn’t_ have, because what I did was awful! Why isn’t she mad at me?” A fresh sob cracked out of her throat.

“That’s just not Hilda’s way,” Johanna said. “She’s quick to anger and quick to forgive. She doesn’t hide things away like that. It’s one of the things I love the very most about her. If she hasn’t told you she’s mad, then she’s not. And I think it’s for Hilda to decide what’s unforgiveable and what isn’t, don’t you?”

 _No,_ Frida thought miserably, but she didn’t say anything. Adults never believed you, anyway. As much as she wanted Johanna’s words to be true, how could they be?

“Ah. Hmm.” Johanna pulled back a bit, cupping Frida’s shoulders in her hands. Frida squinched her eyes shut to hide, then forced them open, making herself face the music. “You don’t think that,” she surmised, making Frida’s breath jump in surprise. “You don’t think that she should forgive you because you made a mistake. But haven’t Hilda and David made mistakes before, too? And you’re still friends with them, aren’t you?”

“Nothing this awful!” Frida protested.

Johanna’s mouth quirked in a smile. “I don’t know, almost taking David’s and my souls in eternal service could have turned out pretty badly,” she joked.

Frida bit her lip viciously. “That was different,” she mumbled.

“Why?”

“Because—because she wasn’t trying to be mean or do anything bad!”

“Neither were you,” Johanna pointed out gently. “You just didn’t know what to do. And what you did turned out to be something you didn’t like, so now you can do something else. That’s all right. We really do all make mistakes, you know.”

“Not me,” Frida said, before she could stop herself. She buried her face in her hands again, tears stinging her eyes. “That’s what I mean. I was supposed to be perfect. And I’m _not_.”

“Oh, my dear—no one is perfect. That’s part of what makes life so interesting. And you are just as lovely whether you are perfect or not.” Johanna asked. Her voice fluttered with concern as her hands smoothed over Frida’s sweater again. “Being perfect isn’t really possible for a human being, anyway.”

“But I wanted to be. Everyone wanted me to be!” Frida burst out. 

“Mum? Frida? What’s going on?”

Hilda’s voice was tentative, in a way it almost never was. When Frida dragged her head up, sniffling, Hilda was standing in the door, her eyes huge with worry and her bathrobe pulled in tight around her shoulders. She was such a good friend—

“Why do you still like me?” fell out of Frida’s mouth. The tears spilled over. “I—I was so awful, with the Marra.”

Hilda’s face pinched with confusion. “But you said sorry,” she said.

“But that doesn’t make up for what I _did_!” Frida insisted.

“Why not?” Hilda asked. She stepped closer. Her bare feet pattered on the kitchen floor, and she pulled a chair up next to Frida. “Isn’t that what friends do? We help each other and figure out how to do things better, and we forgive each other when things go wrong, if the other person is sorry.” She turned to her mum. “Right?”

“Right.” Johanna squeezed Frida’s shoulder.

Hilda turned back to Frida, a small smile pulling over her mouth. “Frida—David and I never minded that you weren’t really perfect. We still like you. You’re still our friend. Just because you made a mistake, doesn’t mean we don’t love to be with you. You make every day better! When you were hanging out with Kelly instead, we missed you so much. It was dreadful. Why wouldn’t we still want to be friends with you?”

“I don’t know,” Frida whispered. Hilda and Johanna’s words were swirling around in her head and making everything confusing. All she was certain of was the fact that she was a terrible person. She had to be, or why would she feel so terrible? “ _I_ don’t want to be my friend right now,” she added, finally. “I want to be the Frida who I thought I was, who never made mistakes and always got good grades and did the right thing every single time.”

“Hmm,” Hilda said. Twig came up between her feet, and she petted down his back, clearly thinking. “Well, then I think perhaps you’ll have to pretend you’re someone else for a moment. Someone who does want to be your friend. Me! Or David. And think about yourself that way. If I were mean to you and said sorry and meant it, you’d still want to be _my_ friend. So pretend that you’re me, and then you’ll understand why I still want to be yours.

“And instead of being that old Frida—maybe you can be a new Frida. Who gets good grades and is really clever and organized and wonderful, but made a mistake. After all, I used to think I would never get used to Trolberg, and would only be Hilda-who-lives-in-the-wilderness forever. But now I’m Hilda-who-loves-Trolberg. Being different doesn’t always have to be a bad thing, does it?”

She tilted her head down, peering into Frida’s eyes. Frida sniffed and swallowed. The tears were pulling back a bit, now. Hilda’s gaze was just so warm and certain and _there_ that it was hard to deny. A strand of lightness flowed through the heaviness in Frida’s mind and body. Maybe she didn’t have to feel so awful about all this. Maybe there was a way forward?

“Maybe,” she said, quietly.

Hilda’s face crinkled into a beaming smile. “I’ll take it,” she declared. “And we’ll work on it. You’ll see—we’ll figure it out together. That’s what friends do, isn’t it?”

She pushed forward to give Frida a hug. Frida hugged her back, fiercely. Perhaps it didn’t matter what she thought she _should_ be. Hilda _was_ still here, after all. After everything. After all of Frida’s failure. Maybe she _could_ be a new Frida, but didn’t have to be a completely different Frida, like the Frida who had been Kelly’s friend.

“Do you think David feels the same?” she couldn’t help but ask.

Hilda squeezed her tighter, then moved back. “Yes,” she said. She turned to look over her shoulder as a knock came on the door, then looked back at Frida and stood. “But why don’t we find out?”

Frida swallowed, and looked at Johanna. Johanna nodded encouragingly. Taking a deep breath, Frida wiped her teary face and stood. The badness of the feeling hadn’t gone away—but maybe Frida didn’t have to hide it and hold it so tightly. Maybe she could tell her friends, and Johanna, more about it, and figure out how to fade it away with their help. Maybe everything wasn’t ruined forever.

“All right,” she said. “Let’s.”

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Yuletide, BlackEyedGirl! Your thoughts about the show were very lovely, and I hope you feel this does them justice. :D


End file.
